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scans and x-rays later, the doctors decided to operate and get the ring of cancer out before it could get worse. I kissed him before he went under the anesthesia and told him I would see him in a few hours and wiped the tear off his cheek. Forty-five minutes into a 6 hour procedure, the supporting surgeon came out and told us the cancer had spread and he gave him 6 months to live.

Stunned, devastated and scared we spoke to doctors and pastors and nurses. All of them offered a shoulder but no advice on how to tell dad about the cancer or his life expectancy. Dad came around shortly thereafter and looked at the doctor and said "What happened? It hasn't been 6 hours, what is wrong?" His surgeon told him about the cancer spread and told him they would do everything they possibly could for him. Dad told him he was going to live, he was going to play golf again, and get someone in here from the cancer floor to discuss treatments with him. The doctor didn't even get out the words before daddy interrupted him and said he knew he was 64 years old but he wasn't done on this Earth yet.

Six months later, four rounds of chemotherapy later, twenty-eight radiation treatments later, another surgery to remove the mass later, months of recovery later, I am awaiting my 40th birthday, Daddy is 65 and cancer free. His doctors called him a miracle. I call him the Comeback Kid.

Learn more about this author, Rae Harp.
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